


Swedes Gotta Have It

by Todesengel



Category: Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crack of the crackiest proportions. Title from forest. Mildly explicit sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swedes Gotta Have It

Sven picked him up in a bar in some nether-hell nexus between fictions, where reality was even more blurred than normal and alcohol was distilled into its purest form. Sven didn't ask what Joe was running from and Joe didn't ask who Wolfwood was, or stop doing that thing with his tongue, which had been the reason Sven had screamed Wolfwood's name in the first place. They just fucked in the haze of alcohol and shared pain and it was...different. Interesting.

It wasn't necessarily something Sven'd want to do on a regular basis, since they both needed too much pain in order to feel, and Sven was a bright lad who'd been down the self-destructive path already and felt no need to do that whole bit again, but in its own way it was nice. And when it was over, and the blood and cum were washed away and the haze of Sven's cigarette filled the cheap motel room, he'd stuck out his hand and said, "Sven."

"Joe," Joe had said, and that was that.

He went back for more about a week later, when the silence of his house got to be too much for him, but he didn't find Joe. He found Ken instead, and that was different to. Not better, but different, and right now that was what Sven needed. Accident brought them together and inertia kept them together, and Sven was happy enough to not rock the boat.

He even got used to Ken's weird kinks, like the dominance-submission games, and it was kind of like what he thought being with Keith would be like, without that whole pesky heterosexuality thing. And if Ken liked to be in control just a little bit more than Sven liked to give up that control, well, that was all right too. This wasn't supposed to be a long term thing anyway, just something to get him over the hump, and if he still wanted to kill Wolfwood some nights, and wanted to beg him to come back on others, well, that was all right too.

Which was why he was so damned surprised when Ken stopped him in the middle of a blowjob and said, "Move in with me."

"What?"

"Move in with me. It's stupid to keep two places when you spend all your time here anyway."

Sven looked around at the shack Ken lived in, and got up from his knees and pulled on his pants and said, "Sorry. I've gotta go."

He didn't go back to that bar for a while, mostly because he found a place that delivered illegal amounts of alcohol and didn't ask questions. Although, maybe he should have asked some questions about the delivery service because one day he answered the door and a girl pulled a gun on him and shot him in the shoulder just as he was saying, "Another new one? I guess they just can't keep girls you on" and looking for his cash.

Which, really, was quite unsporting of her.

"Ow! Fuck!" Sven dodged the second bullet, and scrabbled for his own gun. The tinkling of some relatively expensive object d'art he'd collected in his travels followed quickly on the third shot and from behind the safety of his couch he shouted, "I expect to be reimbursed for that!"

"Find your payment in hell, you unholy monster!" The girl shouted back, and that was new. Sven had been called many, many things in his life, but this was the first time unholy monster had ever come up.

"What?"

"You heard me, hellspawn!" Another bullet and this time it was his couch that was a casualty and that was quite enough, thank you very much.

"Listen, lady," Sven growled out as he armed one of his smaller grenades. "I know I might now have been the biggest tipper on this route, but calling me a 'hellspawn' and shooting up my apartment is _not_ going to get you more cash."

"Don't try to talk your way out of this, vampire." Shuffling noises and was that the sound of his Hokusai being shattered? Oh this bitch was dead.

Wait. Vampire?

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, I don't think I'm who you think I am," Sven shouted. "I mean. Fuck. _Vampire?_ "

There was a very significant pause.

"Oh dear." The particularly distinct noise of a gun being lowered a half-millimeter was suddenly very loud. "Er. Are you sure?"

"Let's see, hmm, well, I don't seem to recall ever drinking blood, so, _yes_ , I'm quite sure that I'm not a vampire."

"How do I know you're not just lying to me?" The equally distinct noise of a gun being raised by the psychotically paranoid made Sven sigh, which was a bad idea because the adrenaline had been wearing off and he was now quite painfully aware of the fact that he had a gaping hole in his shoulder.

"Because I'm currently bleeding to death." Sven contemplated the grenade he still held and shoved the pin back in. No point in destroying whatever was left of his art collection. "Look, could you do me a favor and lob one of those bottles over here. If I'm going to die, then I'm going to die drunk as a lord."

More silence, and then the girl slowly edged around the couch, holding the bottle in one hand and her gun in the other.

It was a very large gun.

She stared at Sven for a long moment, and then holstered the weapon and handed him the bottle. "Look," she said, "I'm really quite sorry about all of this, but you must admit it is a bit suspicious."

Sven grunted and began the complicated task of trying to take out a cork using only one hand and a great deal of will.

"I mean, here you are, a single man consuming what must easily be his body weight in spirits, and yet not suffering a single twinge of alcohol poisoning. Coupled with the fact that all of the girls who deliver for you end up disappearing, well. It's not really on the up-and-up, now is it?" She watched Sven struggle for a moment more than took the bottle from him with a sigh. "Oh let me do it."

"I've got a really good liver," Sven told her, then added. "Plus, the laws of the universe don't exactly apply here, now then do they?"

"Valid point. Makes my job a lot harder, let me tell you." She put the bottle down within easy reach of Sven and dropped a card on his lap. "Listen, terribly sorry about this whole 'accidentally shooting you' thing, but must dash. Places to be, real vampires to kill. If you happen to survive, call that number and I'll reimburse you for your losses." She stood up and very daintily wiped her hands on what was left of his couch. "You know, living alone is never a good idea. You should always have someone around to call an ambulance for you."

Sven was beginning to bitterly regret not lobbing that grenade at her after all. He picked up the card she'd left and stared at it through suddenly blurry eyes.

Integra Hellsing.

Figured.

He ended up back at the bar the day after he got discharged from the hospital, having rather firmly decided that he was damn well entitled to a drink, no matter what the lab coats had to say. Although, as he contemplated the many and various warnings the docs had given him re: mixing alcohol with his pain meds and how bad things like death could happen to him, he decided to go a bit easy.

"Gin and Tonic," he ordered. "And a shot of that lemon vodka."

The redhead who was sitting a couple of stools down started, a bit, and looked at him funny. Sven looked at him right back, and wondered if he could get some sort of special discount if he ended up in the hospital again tonight.

He dearly hoped that wasn't going to happen, since he was really quite tired of eating red jello.

"You Wolfwood?" the redhead asked and that was a startling enough question to make Sven blink a couple of times and swallow around the tiny little lump in his throat.

"No," he said at last, and he relaxed just a little when the redhead grunted and knocked back what was left of his beer.

"Why?" he said after a little while, because damn him, he still cared enough to know if there was some sort of psychotic killer after Wolfwood. That was his job, after all.

"Some asshole priest named Wolfwood stole my Hakkai," the redhead growled. "And I heard he likes to come here, so." He shrugged, and Sven found that he rather liked the sight of that, smooth and rippling like a sudden eddy of water.

"Sorry. Wolfwood doesn't come here." Sven drank his shot of vodka, then picked up his G&T and moved down until he was close enough to the redhead to feel the full brunt of his glare. Sven grinned at him, because he could, and took a sip from his drink. "Your source must've gotten me and him confused. Understandable, since he used to be mine or I used to be his, or however it worked."

"Ah." The redhead stood and threw some cash down on the bar. Sven grabbed his wrist and didn't let go, just stared at the redhead until he was sure that he wasn't going to have to pull a gun and get a return trip to the hospital to have his stitches put back in.

"Come on." Sven nodded toward the booths in the back as he signaled for the barkeep to give the redhead another round of whatever beer he'd been drinking -- something dreadfully cheap given the bill was so tiny. "Let's get drunk and bitch about faithless lovers." His lips twitched, just a little, into the tiniest of smiles, a real one that hurt his face in its honesty. "Don't worry. I'll call the ambulance if your stomach needs pumping."

"Please. I can drink you under the table." The redhead picked up his beer and didn't offer to shake Sven's hand; didn't shake Sven off either, when he grabbed his arm as the sudden rush of blood back to his brain made him dizzy. "Gojyo."

"Sven." He picked up his G&T and started back to the booths. "Now let me introduce you to the finer points of alcohol consumption."

Gojyo smirked at him, but he didn't let go of Sven's arm.


End file.
